American Detective: An Amos Walker Novel by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page A

end table.
    Alderdyce lowered her head to the rug. The puddle of drool had begun to dry. “Lab monkeys won’t thank you for laying on hands,” Burrough said.
    “What they going to do, stomp my toes in their paper shoes?”
    “They were okay before. It was that TV show turned them into arrogant pricks.”
    “Head trauma?” Alderdyce asked.
    “Bruise on the left temple. I make it she fell and hit the floor lamp on the corner of the metal shade. Or somebody pushed her.”
    “Accident?”
    “I don’t see how you could plan it. You can land punches on the temple all day and miss the sweet spot.”
    “Well, maybe we won’t have it long. Five hundred hours community service and three years probation if he cops. Anyone see Bairn?”
    “Neighbor heard the door slam after the commotion in the living room. He didn’t look out. Didn’t hear the elevator, so he figured whoever it was took the stairs. Stewed for a little and then called it in. Ransom and Ordoñez caught the squeal. They found the door unlocked and called me when they saw this.
    “Be different it was a couple blocks north,” he went on. “Voices raised, slap on the chops, that’s a day in the life. Down here they’re interested in stopping things before they slide back.”
    Alderdyce stripped off the gloves, watching me. “How long since you went to a Tigers game?”
    “When did they close down the stadium?” I asked.
    “It’s the same team, no matter where they play.”
    “Same jerseys. Different names on the back. I lost touch. You trying to get rid of an extra ticket?”
    “It wasn’t a social question. You really don’t know who Deirdre Fuller is.”
    “Another friend of Bairn’s, apparently.”
    “Her father’s Darius Fuller: the Fuller Brush Man. That’s how come she rates an inspector. The mayor takes it hard when the children of famous locals come to bad ends. Especially when it’s inside city limits. In a couple of hours this place is going to be crawling with media.”
    “Assholes.” Burrough swept shut his notepad.
    “The detective’s beef is personal. Mine’s professional. When they stick their corn dogs in my face and start yapping questions, it would be nice to say we’re questioning her boyfriend. It’s always the boyfriend, so they’ll accept that and stand back and give us some air. If you did know Bairn casually, you should be able to shed some light on their relationship, what it was and if they got along, but you say you didn’t know her. If, and I know it goddamn well to be true, he’s business, you do know. So is he the client or the subject of the investigation?”
    “He isn’t a client.”
    “Progress. Who’s the payroll?”
    “I didn’t say there was one.”
    “Bullshit. You made a business call to this number and you didn’t even know it wasn’t Bairn’s voice on the line. The only way you’d make that mistake is if you’d never heard him talk.”
    “You can tie up a domestic killing without my help,” I said. “For you it’s a daily crossword. All I did was—”
    “If you say ‘make a telephone call and knock on a door,’ I’ll leave you here with Burrough and Ransom and take a walk around the block. The FBI can make what it wants to out of it when it comes up for review.”
    He’d kept his temper, but then he’d had it on a leash so many years he knew he could whistle it back anytime he cut itloose. Only the bright whites of his eyes told you what would happen to you in between. I said, “I have to talk to the client.”
    “Do it now. You’ve got a cell.”
    I shook my head. “If the answer’s no, you’ll just confiscate it and check the log.”
    Burrough spoke up. “We can wait till the phone here’s dusted, then you can use that. I got people checking on Bairn’s location. Nothing else to do till they report, right, Inspector?”
    I said, “Then you’ll get the number from Ma Bell.”
    Alderdyce’s face went as smooth as it could short of sandblasting. “Long